


Safe Distance

by EvilMuffins



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Curse Breaking, Curses, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 05:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/pseuds/EvilMuffins
Summary: “It’s as you suspected,” Libra replied, stealing a glance back over his shoulder toward the medical tent behind him. “Tharja seems to be under the influence of a rather nasty curse.”“But how?” Robin asked, the question directed more toward himself than the monk as he began to thumb at the worn edging of his coat. “She wasn’t a part of the last battle rotation... it had been her turn to rest.”Libra frowned. “It appears to have been self-inflicted.”---Robin finds himself desperate to save Tharja after she falls under a debilitating curse.(This fic is an alternate version of my other work, Dangerous Proximity, however featuring male Robin instead!)





	Safe Distance

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the male Robin zine! Thanks to my lovely gf for the beta!

“Is something troubling you, Robin?”

Robin blinked up from the paperwork strewn across his desk to find Frederick staring at him intently, brows furrowed in concern.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” _ How long had Frederick been standing there? _ “Did you need something?”

“You’ve been staring at tomorrow’s dinner menu for ten minutes straight,” Frederick told him. “If you don’t care for Sumia’s cooking, I can pick up something else from the market later-”

“It’s alright, Frederick,” Robin said, rubbing at his eyes. When had the menu proposal surfaced to the top of his stack? He had meant to flesh out the Shepherds’ next plan of attack… “If Sumia’s on mess duty tonight, the food isn’t likely to make the table anyhow. The truth is, I’ve been worried about Tharja.”

“Tharja?” Frederick repeated, brows raising as if he had discovered Robin spending his afternoon fretting over the well-being of Gangrel.

“Is that strange?” Robin asked.

“No, not at all. Tharja has proven herself an integral part of the Shepherds. I suppose I always just saw her as someone who could look out for herself.”

“Perhaps she is, but I haven’t seen her around lately to say for certain. Tell me, Frederick, when is the last time you’ve spotted her about camp?”

“Just this morning at breakfast,” Frederick recounted thoughtfully. “She sat down just moments after you took your leave.”

“Hmm…”

* * *

The remainder of the day passed by busily as usual, save for the notable absence of the all too familiar goosebumps prickling at the back of Robin’s neck during any given moment.

If it weren’t for the fact that Frederick had confirmed her presence in the camp, Robin may have begun to suspect that Tharja had been spirited away, perhaps by some marauders looking for someone to ransom off. Although, had that been the case, there would likely have been more cause to fear for the bandits’ safety than that of the dark mage.

Her remarkable capability was certainly high on the list of things that Robin admired about Tharja. The army would surely suffer for her absence should anything happen to her.

Following his daily briefing with Chrom (that had concluded without any dark shadows looming just outside the tent flaps), Robin took his leave with plans to retire to his own tent for the night. The day had rushed by in a blur, and although the Shepherds hadn’t had to engage in battle, there had still been tactics to plan and comrades with worries of their own. Between all of that, Robin still had yet to uncover Tharja’s whereabouts.

Fortunately, it just so happened to be that the tent Tharja shared with Nowi was on the way to Robin’s own… that is to say if ‘on the way’ meant ‘on the other side of the armory, past the mess tent, and behind the one where Cordelia bunked with Sumia’.

Although he might hesitate to bother anyone else given the late hour, Tharja tended to keep night like a bird in a cage, relishing in its graceful presence. This schedule was evidenced by the persistent dark circles underneath her fawn-colored eyes, so stark against her pale skin.

Shortly into the company’s current march, Robin had come to realize the inconvenience of tents compared to the palace at Ylisstol, namely in the way that it was impossible to knock on the soft canvas doors. Even so, lamplight shone from inside, making it clear that someone must be awake.

Robin cleared his throat. “Tharja? Are you in?”

When no reply came for several moments, Robin began to wonder if she had fallen asleep early, perhaps even taken ill. It was probably for the best to leave her alone in that case. Robin knew that at times he had a tendency to meddle in the affairs of his friends perhaps a little too much.

“…Robin?” 

Rather than pleased at his presence, the voice emanating from inside the tent sounded with a unexpected quaver of uncertainty.

“May I come in?” Robin did his best to keep his own tone even, hoping to reassure Tharja, despite the fact that he had yet to discover what was the matter. 

“Robin… I…” Tharja’s voice choked out. 

The pain in those words shot directly into Robin’s stomach, and without a second thought, he threw back the tent flap, bursting inside just in time to catch the limp form of Tharja in his arms. 

* * *

Although Robin buried his face in his hands, the image of the strange red blotches peppering Tharja’s otherwise pale skin remained stubbornly fixed behind his eyelids. 

As he sat desperately running through a host of possible causes, the sound of footsteps approaching prompted Robin back into an upright position. “How is she?”

“It’s as you suspected,” Libra replied, stealing a glance back over his shoulder toward the medical tent behind him. “Tharja seems to be under the influence of a rather nasty curse.”

“But how?” Robin asked, the question directed more toward himself than the monk as he began to thumb at the worn edging of his coat. “She wasn’t a part of the last battle rotation... it had been her turn to rest.”

Libra frowned. “It appears to have been self-inflicted.”

“What?” Robin sputtered, although he was certain that he had heard Libra perfectly well. “It surely must have been an accident, then?”

Although Robin didn’t consider himself to be a mage, even he knew that hexes could be tricky things. Even for someone as skilled as Tharja, one poorly-timed distraction could easily lead to bodily harm or worse. 

Libra gave a solemn shake of his head. “When she came to for a moment, I was able to ask of her a few questions… Robin,” Libra placed a hand on Robin’s arm, the touch uncomfortably heavy as he laid the truth of the matter upon Robin’s shoulders. “She did this to herself in order to keep her distance from you. You see, Tharja worried that her constant presence was becoming a nuisance. She thought that she might be impeding you in your duties as tactician, and so she hexed herself to become ill whenever you were too near, thinking it the only way to force herself away from your side.”

Robin parted his lips, although no sound came out. A tempest of thoughts swirled in his mind as he took a deep breath, trying again, “Tell me how I can break the hex.” 

* * *

“So you came to see the ‘_ hexpert _’, huh? Nyahaha!” Henry snickered, already brewing no small wave of misgivings within Robin’s mind. 

“You heard what happened then?” He ventured. 

“Of course, silly! Did you really think that someone could get hexed around here and I wouldn’t want to know allll about it? Gosh, I wish I knew how she did it… Sounds like a hoot!”

_ Tharja certainly didn’t seem to be having a very good time, _Robin thought bitterly. 

“Well, Libra and I figured that out of everyone, you’d be mostly likely to know how to handle dark magic of this sort.”

“Alrighty then, just let me take a look-see at the patient.” Theatrically rolling up his sleeves, Henry started off in the direction of the tent where Tharja lay resting. 

“Mind if I try to lend a hand?” Ricken piped up, setting down the latest letter home he had been hard at work on. 

“Eh, why not?” Henry said. “Might be good practice for ya.”

Following Robin to the medical tent, the two mages disappeared behind the flap. 

Although he could hear occasional bouts of Henry’s strange laughter, interspersed with sounds of exasperation from Ricken, Robin still wasn’t entirely sure what they were up to in there, especially as the minutes dragged on. 

By the time Robin’s boots had nearly worn a rut in the dirt, Ricken emerged, followed by Henry, expression unusually grim. 

“She’s good,” He muttered, jamming a thumbnail between his teeth. 

“Er, not in the healthy way,” Ricken clarified. “She’s come up with a type of hex neither of us have ever seen before.

“Not that Ricken here has seen all that many different kinds,” Henry teased, far less thoughtful now than seconds ago. 

Ricken frowned, before turning back to Robin. “We’re going to try a few things. She’ll be alright, Robin. Henry knows his stuff.”

Even when the Shepherds were in the midst of a long march, the army still carried with them trunks filled with books. Some were, of course, tomes through which to channel magical power, however a good many others held fictional tales in the hopes of boosting morale. Of this fact, Robin was rather thankful. Even so, each time he would open up a book and leaf through its trail-worn pages, he couldn’t help but wonder in the back of his mind if he had ever already read this one before awakening in that field. 

Tonight, however, it was the volumes of magical theory and practice that he and Ricken pored over. 

“Do I smell something burning?” Robin asked curiously, glancing up from the stack of books.

“Oh that?” Henry said casually. “It’s just my hair.”

Alarmed, Robin spun in his seat, only to find that Henry had been referring to only a lock of his hair which had been set to smouldering in a bowl along with an assortment of dried plant-matter. Robin didn’t notice any cutting implements around Henry’s work area and shuddered at the notion that he had plucked such a hank from his scalp. 

“Any progress?” Robin asked, hoping that Henry had made more headway than he had managed. 

“You mean _ frog _-ress,” Henry cackled, holding up the shriveled corpse of a toad, before giving a shrug. “Nah, not really. I was hoping this potion would transfer the catalyst for the hex from you to me, but it’s just not coming together. To be honest with ya, I’m much better with spoken hexes than with potions and stuff.”

“There isn’t a spoken hex that would reverse it, then?”

“Not according to any of these books.” Ricken gestured toward the stack piling up at his feet. “It’s also not the type of thing that just wears off in time, like when Henry hexed that dish back together the other day.”

“So what else can we do?” Robin asked. Although he’d come face to face with one of the Risen just barely two days prior--near enough that he’d smelled the rot on its breath--somehow the experience wasn’t so nearly terrifying as the thought of losing Tharja simply because he had been too boneheaded to pay her some proper attention up until now. 

“Keep at it, I guess,” Henry replied, surprising Robin. He had been expecting a much more nihilistic approach. “I don’t really need all that much sleep… In fact, this reminds me of Wizard School! Everytime someone would nod off in class, the teacher would hex his seat so that it would be red-hot for the rest of the lesson! This won’t be nearly as fun, of course, but sacrifices have to be made when you’re at war or something like that.”

“I can stay awake too, no problem!” Ricken insisted, stifling a yawn. 

Thirty minutes of fruitless page flipping later, Robin's concentration was broken by two distinct snoring noises arising from either side of the tent. Blinking, he looked up to see Henry, arms crossed over the worktable, head resting peacefully upon them with the tip of his nose situated mere inches from an uprooted plant that looked suspiciously like poison ivy.

Beside Robin, Ricken was slumped over in his chair, hat brim flopped down and partially obscuring his innocent face.

_ He had fried a man to death just yesterday, _ Robin thought bitterly. A single bolt of magic from his tome was all that it had taken. Although Ricken was no longer a child, the reality of someone so young thrust into war was horrifying. _ We have to end this blasted war... And we need Tharja at our side. _

Shrugging off his robe, Robin draped it gently over Ricken's shoulders, before padding over to Henry and nudging the offending plant away from him using a stick. 

Robin slipped out into the night air. In the very last book he had thought to try, one passage had leapt out at him. He had seen the very same flowers it had spoken of a few miles back, deep within Risen territory. 

Even if he set out now, he still wouldn’t be back before daylight. The others may miss their tactician, but Chrom could handle things without him for a day. 

Making up his mind, Robin set out… Only to crash directly into a surprisingly muscular chest.

“_ Stahl _? What are you doing out this time of night?”

“Mid-night snack.” He gestured sheepishly toward the sugared donut in his hand. For a brief moment, Robin wondered where he had found such a thing, however, bartering with Gaius was the more than likely explanation. “What’s keeping you up? Couldn’t sleep? ...Tummy ache?”

Stahl sounded so sympathetic that Robin was nearly tempted to play along, however there was no real reason to hide the truth. 

“Tharja’s managed to hex herself,” Robin explained, hoping that he didn’t come across as short. “She’s taken ill.”

“Oh geez…” Stahl said apologetically. “I saw the lamp light when I passed the med tent, and I was wondering what poor person was laid up in there… Hey, do you think it would be okay if I take a peek at her? My family runs an apothecary. I wouldn’t look it, but every now and then I can find my way around a hex.”

Robin certainly didn’t see the harm and the two made their way into the tent. 

“You’re not going in?” Stahl asked, confused as Robin continued to stand ten feet from the entrance. 

Robin shook his head. “I’m the catalyst. She’ll only get worse the nearer I get.”

“Oh wow… Sorry to hear that, buddy,” Stahl replied before disappearing into the tent, donut still firmly in hand. 

Everything was quiet for a moment or two, and although Stahl was more than capable on the battlefield, Robin couldn’t help but expect him to emerge less than victorious. 

“_ HCK-SHOO!” _

A thunderous sneeze sounded out, causing Robin to nearly leap straight out of his boots. 

“_ Tharja _?” Came Stahl’s voice and it was all that Robin could do to restrain himself from charging in.

“What?” A familiarly cranky voice snapped.

“Tharja, are you alright?” Robin called through the canvas wall.

“Just ducky,” Tharja called back, then more softly, “You can come in.”

The flood of emotion that came with seeing Tharja sitting up in bed was immediately overwhelmed by the surprise of also seeing her dark hair dusted in powdered sugar.

Robin turned to Stahl, incredulous. “Did you, er, sneeze sugar from your donut all over her?”

Stahl rubbed at the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah… Sorry about that. Really gets up your nose sometimes, you know?”

“But you’re cured now?” Robin fixed his attention back to Tharja, kneeling at her bedside. 

“The counter-hex was sugar,” Tharja explained, although to Robin it nearly sounded as if she were bragging. “I thought that if things went too far, I could just pop a sugar cube or two into my tea. Although, I should have known how powerful my own hexes are. Heh...”

“That’s of no matter now, as long as you never attempt anything like that ever again,” Robin scolded, not trying to mask the relief in his voice. “The Shepherds need you, Tharja, and _ I _need you too.”

“It seems that it was your turn to take care of me,” Tharja said fondly, as Robin took her hand in his. 

“It would seem so,” Robin smiled, placing a kiss on the back of Tharja's sugar-coated hand.

  
  
  
  



End file.
